I finally got around to seeing “Crossing the Line: The Passport Re-Imagined” at Open Book, just three blocks from our home. Here, the artist has produced passports for migratory birds; the painted eggs represent individual birds, while the cloth satchel serves as a “nest” to hold the eggs and passports. On my own travels, I’ve often been in awe of migratory birds, especially at Farewell Spit on New Zealand’s South Island, where we observed bar-tailed godwits that migrate 7,500 miles to Alaska.
Category: Our Neighborhood
Decolonizing the menu
Shared notes about our day over a dinner of indigenous ingredients at the bar at Owamni. While reservations for this James Beard Award-winning restaurant can be hard to snag, we’ve found that unreserved bar seats are usually available if we arrive early. Signs reminded us where we were, featuring tags like #landback, #86colonialism (86 is a nod to the restaurant lingo for removing an item from the menu), and the acknowledgment that we were dining on native land.
Closed on Mondays
On Mondays, I sometimes get the urge to look at art. At the start of my walk today, I popped into Open Book for “Crossing the Line: The Passport Re-Imagined.” Bad idea: like many galleries, it’s closed on Mondays. Since the cafe was open, an Americano and a donut replaced examining “themes of immigration, power, limitation, and belonging.”
Waymo in the wild
Spotted this Waymo in the wild today. They’re currently being trained for our harsh climate. I’m looking forward to having vehicles on our streets that actually stop at pedestrian crossings, pause before right turns on red, and never run red lights.
From sunrise to supper
The sun was rising as I left this morning, the start of a long day that eventually wound down at a local restaurant we had not tried before. We enjoyed dishes with names ending in au vin and en croûte while comparing notes about our day.
Transitioning to color
On our Sunday walk, with temperatures climbing into the high fifties, yesterday’s snowy, monochromatic landscape had found some color. Here at Gold Medal Park the grass and trees are still a few weeks away from fully greening up.
A winter forage
Walked over to the farmers market on a fresh overnight dusting of snow, a reminder that winter isn’t finished and that local produce would be scarce. I carried home crusty bread straight from the baker, along with bacon sausages and lamb from a local farm for “Sausage Saturday” and a Sunday root vegetable braise.
Bold sign, bold lunch
Took the opportunity while Dwight was seeing a friend to grab a spicy lunch at a nearby Thai restaurant. A “Private Property” sign on the door explicitly forbids immigration enforcement on the premises. The City of Minneapolis estimates that since December, ICE agents have caused well over $100 million in economic damage to city businesses and workers afraid to go to work, while straining city resources.
Stronger together
Walked over to Open Book for a cuppa. The folks at the Minnesota Center for Book Arts had been busy at the letterpress; a “please take one” sign sat beside a now-nonexistent pile of protest posters. It reminded me of our recent travels: whenever people asked where we were from, “Minneapolis, Minnesota” always drew a warm, informed response. “The US,” less so.
Dinner and hard truths
Snowy walk to meet friends for a “modern take on authentic Mexican food.” Because people are afraid to go out lately, the restaurant has had to shorten its hours. We received great service from our server, and we chatted at the end of our meal. She shared her well-founded fear of being dragged off by ICE goons on her way from work because of the color of her skin, despite being an American-born citizen.